


Suit Up

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Fluff & Angst [38]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 18:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8295697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Kylo scrubs up nicely.





	

Hux insists upon taking Kylo for his first fitting in forever. It’s all well and good wearing that ridiculous (and, admittedly attractive) outfit when he’s planning bloody murders, but if he intends (as he seems so sure about) on taking Hux out on _dates_ , he can do so dressed nicely.

Which meant that Kylo agreed only on the grounds of Hux ditching his work dress uniform, and getting civilian clothing of his own.

Hux - with only a slightly heavy heart - agreed.

So now they’re at one of the few tailors Hux will trust, and Kylo looks like he’s been stabbed repeatedly in the back. And not in the fun way.

“Hux… can’t we just… get nice shirts?”  


“These are nice shirts.”  


“I mean - _normal clothes_.”  


“I’m not normal, and neither are you, and if you want to take me to the finest dining places, you’re not doing so off the rack.”  


Hux does not know why Kylo is so averse to this. A well-fitted suit is comfortable, and instils you with confidence. Maybe he’s never had one?

He watches as Kylo shrinks a little under the measurement droid. The head tailor grabs his chin and pulls him erect, and Hux thinks for a moment his boyfriend might murder him on the spot.

Once that’s done, he pulls his sullen boyfriend to one side. “What is it?”

“It’s… nothing.”  


“Kylo… please. You said you’d be honest with me. I’ve been honest with you.” It’s been difficult for both of them, but after the third nearly-destroying-the-relationship fight, they’d realised the only way to make it work was to be sincere.  


“The last time I wore… this… I wasn’t _me_. And it wasn’t nice. I _hated_ those functions. I had to play polite with everyone _touching my hair_ and I had to pretend I felt fine while they all talked boring politics and I had no one to talk to myself.”  


Oh. Hux forgets, sometimes. He forgets that - before Kylo - was another life. And it does sting a little, knowing he _had_ the finery, the high fashion, the social butterfly status. Hux would have killed for it, but not if it meant joining the _Republic_. 

“Do you want to stop?” he asks.  


“…you want this.”  


“If you need to stop, we can do something else.”  


“No, I… I can’t let it… I can’t let it control me. I’m sorry. It’s just…”  


Hard. Hard for him, and Hux recognises the effort, and appreciates it all the more. He surges to peck him on the lips, grateful that he’s willing to attempt it. “How about I go first, and you help me pick my outfit. You see if you like how it looks on me, and then you decide if you’re ready, too?”

“Okay.” Kylo cringes. “You’re not mad at me?”  


“Never. I should have thought about the consequences…”  


“I’m sorry.”  


“You don’t need to be. But I don’t want what _they_ did to you stop you having fun **now**. We’ll go as slow as you need.” Once upon a time, he could never have imagined such patience in himself.  


That was before Kylo. 

Now… now he sees that sometimes you don’t win right off, but that doesn’t mean you’re losing.

He squeezes his lover’s hand, then goes to get fitted.

***

There’s something reassuring about clothing that’s made for you, and you alone. Something better than hand-me-downs or pick-up-from-the-uniform-stores. No one else has worn it, and it fits you. No sagging places, no suspicious marks, no too-stiff collar threatening to choke you.

This collar _is_ stiff, but made just for him. It lifts his head, and gently strokes him into pride and surety. The snug belt around his middle is a lover’s embrace, the slide of fabric across his shoulders is whispered kisses. 

And better still is Kylo’s eyes on him. He preens and struts, feeling the Knight’s appreciation. Feeling the heat of his desire, tempered only by the very public location. 

“Do you like it?”  


Kylo nods, his eyes lost in desire. Much more and he’s going to be too hard to try on his own clothing, so Hux vanishes to put his own back on. It’s done its job.

***

Kylo scrubs up _nicely_ , under hands that know what they’re doing. He wears some colours brilliantly, and they make his dark hair seem to shimmer against them. 

He still looks unsure in his skin, but a little less so when Hux’s eyes fall on him.

Hux could eat him **alive**. The wrapping is gorgeous, but it just hints to the man below it, and he - well. 

“I want that.”  


“…yeah?”  


“Yes.”  


***

The flight back home is not fast enough. With the hyperdrive on, Hux insists they put one of their outfits on. (He did get several.) The first ones. The ones they tried on before the others. _Those_ ones.

Kylo - to his credit - wears it perfectly, the knowledge of before not lost. He preens himself neat, and then looks across at Hux.

Hux, who just wants to _eat him a-fucking-live_. His eyes can’t move, can’t leave that form. The shoulders, the tapering lines. The neatly-tucked waist. The streaks of order across Kylo’s battle-strong form.

Oh, fuck.

Quite despite himself, he shoves Kylo down onto the seat, kneeling between his thighs and sniffing at his crotch. He smells of finely-laundered fabric, day, and heat. Hux holds those knees apart as he mouths over the stiff clothing, using his nose and a dry tongue to get him good and hard. 

The sin of kneeling in these good wears is an atrocity, and he finds himself all the harder for it. He smiles up at the man whose fingers grace his hair.

“I just put them _on_ ,” Kylo complains. “Now you want them off?”  


“No need,” Hux grins. “We can just slide them out of the way enough.”  


His fingers go to the stiff belt, pulling it out with a satisfyingly solid sound. He feels for his bulge under the fine, black underthings and tugs him out. A few strokes, and it’s ready for whatever he deems acceptable.

Kylo smiles, and Hux is lifted through the air without a finger on his skin. He kneels astride his lap, and then Kylo uses his hands at last. They caress his rump, and rock them both together, leaving Hux to push his pants down just enough to bare his bum.

They have lube everywhere for a _reason_. Like Kylo using the middle finger of each hand in him while they make out reasons. Like Hux being able to bounce himself wide on his hands, and split himself near in half in his eagerness for that delicious dick of his. 

Hux loves it. He really does. It’s one hell of a phallus, and it’s his and his alone. Kylo looks vibrant and debauched, panting through the collar at his throat. He could be the senator’s son again, and Hux angrily fists at his hair as he leans in: “ _I’m going to fuck myself on your cock, because you’re not up to the task, are you?”_

His lover shakes his head, and then smiles in bliss as Hux makes good by climbing on his shaft. The linen shushes them, chastising their depravity, and Hux rides him all the harder for it. He feels the pants under his bare-assed bounces, and laughs himself hoarse as he fucks up into Kylo’s waiting hand. 

Formal dinners are going to be a problem. He’s never going to want to eat anything but the man across the table. What a pity.


End file.
